I have my constitution
which exists in the tablets of my mind,
It's not an illusion,
but an ally, a friend,
A guide to perfection,
Perverts the way of the pervert,
A guide to perfection
for the immortal, mortal and mortality.
There is a constitution,
Perpetuated by coercion,
Written by human distortion,
With zigged and zagged expectation,
Oriented to insufficiency,
Loops that our leaders pay to see,
Whose sowers sow carefully,
lest they close their own way.
Of a doctrine hollow I know,
Often planted on the way of justice,
Where the little of a cobbler is taken,
To spare the enthusiasm of a regime,
A policy set out for heaven,
But creates hell just before,
When infants survive just long enough,
To witness the state-of-the-art slaughter of their beloved.
An outline of legal malpractices,
constitution of an immoral basis of morality,
Thieves defining the principle of equity,
Harlots given virgin reception,
A fugitive in the state house,
A constitution which siphons justice,
Is your pamphlet of statements,
Written in pencil and erased in ink.
That's not my constitution,
Which differentiates between a Negro and hero,
Implemented sparingly by hungry lawyers,
Who when full do more harm,
To warrant extermination of infants,
And offer them a premature state burial,
Where man slaughters his kinsmen,
For the interests of a constitution.
Written 15/06/2012 MUTHOKA JACOB.
A reaction to failed confidence in the constitution whose makers become the prefects over its interpretation.